Tales on a Cold Winter's Eve
by Hades Lord of the Dead
Summary: My own responses to prompts given in the December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness. Many thanks to all the users participating this year - you guys rock! (Rated T to be safe).
1. Dec 1st - Brother

_From Aleine Skyfire - Fluffy childhood Christmas for either Holmes or Watson._

**Brother**

Tramping around in the snow after his 6 year old brother was most definitely not Mycroft Holmes's ideal way to spend a snowy afternoon.

"Sherlock," he grumbled, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them, "if you're not done in two minutes then I'm going to go inside and leave you here!" The little boy took no notice of his older brother's threat.

"Help me lift this snowball Mycroft!"

Mycroft sighed. Said snowball was already up to his waist - larger by far than Sherlock himself.

"It would make far more sense to put that one on the bottom Sherlock - I'll lift the other one on top for the body."

Sherlock pouted, clearly not thrilled with this idea. "Why can't I lift it?"

"Because you're too small and irritating," Mycroft muttered under hhis breath.

"Huh?"

Mycroft cleared his throat and said, loud enough this time for his little brother to hear, "Because you need to make the head."

"Ohh!" Sherlock's eyes gleamed with understanding. "Alright."

As Sherlock set about rolling a new, much smaller ball of snow Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief. As of yet his brother had not reached the conclusion that snowballs made extremely effective projectile weapons – and Mycroft was quite happy for it to remain that way!

**A/N HI! So um, yes... I know this is a challenge I initiated this year, and that I'm a TERRIBLE person for not having written and posted responses to it until now. But um... well... I have a really good excuse for that... which is... um... HEY LOOK OVER THERE!**

***Runs away***


	2. Dec 2nd - Of Women and Deerstalkers

_From Alice Wright – The hat_

**Of Women and Deerstalkers**

The curtain closed and eventually the applause which filled the theatre faded into conversation. People began to leave their seats, but Sherlock Holmes remained deathly still, his expression one of the utmost horror. I cleared my throat awkwardly.

"Dare I ask what your opinion on the play was?" I asked, a trifle fast for fear of his reaction. He turned to me, looking stricken.

"That-" he stammered after a moment's pause, gesturing to the stage, "-that was… was pure fantasy!"

"Yes, well, perhaps we should leave," was my reply. I knew my friend could become most passionate in his outrage, and already those nearest us were casting dirty looks in our direction. "Come, we can hail a cab, try some of the local cuisine-"

"Cuisine," Holmes scoffed. "What do these Americans know of cuisine?! I can only hope it is a great deal more than they know of writing and performing plays!"

I laughed nervously and attempted, in vain, to calm my friend down. "Holmes, it wasn't so awful-"

"Awful – ha!" he cried at the very top of his voice. "That was not awful, it was worse than awful! Abysmal, appalling – absolute codswallop! To think, to think they would… would…" He trailed away, apparently in anger but I felt I had a shrewd idea of what he was thinking.

"To what, Holmes?" I asked, stifling my smile.

"To insert some… _woman-_" he spat the word as though it were pure poison, "-into my life and as a- a _lover _of all things!" He sat for a moment, seemingly struggling with rage. "Come Watson – let us depart. I cannot stand any more of this!"

I leapt to my feet, all too eager to leave. "Certainly!"

We both walked swiftly toward the exit, Holmes still grumbling. "And the costume – good God Watson! The cape, perhaps I could live with…. but _the hat-!_"

Despite his ranting, I smiled. "Perhaps now you will come to appreciate my own writing a little more..." I suggested. "After all it would be simple for me to, say, drop Miss Alice Faulkner into my next acco-"

"_Don't you dare!_"

**A/N The Sherlock Holmes play first premiered in New York City in 1899, and it always made me laugh to imagine Holmes watching it, so... yeah. If you're interested you can look up Sherlock Holmes (Play) on Wikipedia.  
**


	3. Dec 3rd - No Kitten Left Behind

_From Alice Wright – __Watson decides to bring home a kitten. How will Holmes react?_

**No Kitten Left Behind**

_JW_

It was evening and a miserable one at that. I walked with my head lowered slightly, keeping my eyes fixed on the pavement just in front of me. My day had been both long and tiring, and I was looking forward to returning home to 221B. It was only when I heard the pitiful _meow _that I realized I was being followed.

I twisted my head toward the noise – and smiled. A tiny kitten, dark as the night I had found it in, padded towards me. I bent down and stretched out my hand. When the creature did not shy away, I began to stroke its wet fur, gently and slowly. Very soon it was purring, and not long after that I acknowledged that there was no possibility of leaving the poor animal behind. I scooped it up with one hand and continued on my way.

It was only once I had reached the front door of the flat that I began to consider how Holmes would feel about having a new pet around the place.

_SH_

My mood that evening was neither high nor low. The case had concluded yesterday and as of yet I had not succumbed to one of my black moods. I glanced outside, wrinkling my nose at the weak drizzle. Rain has always displeased me – it lends far too much opportunity for useful evidence to be destroyed.

I heard the front door open and turned away from the window, flinging myself instead into my armchair and listening out for my roommate's footsteps. As I had suspected, his limp was more noticeable than usual and I knew he would be grateful for the warmth of the fireplace.

"Good evening Watson," I greeted him lazily the instant the living room door had opened, "I trust that you had a pleasant-" I stopped and sat up a little straighter. I had just caught sight of what he held in his left hand. "Watson… what the devil are you doing with _that?_"

**A/N If anyone wants to continue this, feel free. (I like cute kitten fics as much as the next person, but I find it difficult to write them without it becoming cheesy). **

**Dedicated to my brother, Poseidon – God of the Seas, because he has to get his appendix removed tomorrow.  
And thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, follows etc. Much appreciated!**


	4. Dec 4th - Tact

_From Sparky Dorian - Baking gone wrong.********_

**Tact**

"Good God Watson! This soup tastes as though someone drank it, regurgitated it, drank it again, and then waited for it to pass through their system before serving it to us! I know I would certainly appreciate a tastier recipe..."

Holmes discovered, one slap to the face later, that tact was not his strong suit.


	5. Dec 5th - wurds ov apolojee

_From Spockologist - The Irregulars break Mrs Hudson's tea set._******  
**

**wurds ov apolojee**

deer missis hudson  
we ar vere sore vat we brok yor teepot. we wur pleying in the kitchen and it was an axeident but we ar vere sore and docktor wotson said we shood tell yoo wot we had dun. we promis not to pley agen wen we no vat veres importunt fings neerbi.  
we will tri and get yoo a nyoo 1 for cristmas.  
lots of love  
billy  
freddy  
nathaniel


	6. Dec 6th - Mistake

_From Lemon Zinger - Ten Word Challenge: Crest, Trapped, Hang, Meek, Blood, Hysteria, Strive, Grave, Air, Crisp_

**Mistake**

The air was crisp and I breathed in deep, relishing that breath. _The last,_ I promised myself.

I was, by now, far past the point of hysteria. All I could do was face what was to come with a cool acceptance. The same manner in which I faced all foes and obstacles.

I sent Watson away. It would have been unfair not to, to his wife at the very least. Although I could not imagine that he would consider my actions sensible, I hoped one day he would come to forgive me. I hoped he would not feel the need to forgive himself.

He would rush back as soon as realisation struck, I was sure of that. No doubt he would ignore the leg which so often pained him. Flinging himself to the very edge of the cliff, hanging on, just. Staring down into the rushing water...No blood. No body. Washed away downstream. A watery grave.

Below me a wave soared up and splashed against the rock, it's foaming crest already dissipating back into the water, disappearing from sight. Stuck in the watery currents forever.

Trapped there.

I took another breath. _The last,_ I promised myself, not knowing my mistake.

**_A/N Thanks to Ennui Enigma, for messaging me and reminding me about the world of SH fanfiction. And apologies again for the incredibly late responses to these prompts..._**


	7. Dec 7th - Candle?

_From Wordwielder - Candle_

**Candle?**

"Lestrade! That isn't a candle! That's a stick of dynamite!"

"A stick of-!"

**KABOOM!**

"... ow. Mr Holmes are you alright?"

"I miss Watson."


	8. Dec 8th - No Sense

_From Sparky Dorian - Holmes and Watson are transported back to the time of King Arthur._

_**A/N Aaaaand it's crossover time! I apologise to all those who have never seen the BBC series Merlin, and recommend it heartily. I am sure that all of you who dig the Watson Holmes bromance will dig the Arthur Merlin bromance.**_

**No Sense**

"I don't understand Watson!" Holmes cried, banging his fist upon the roughly hewn wooden table. Or perhaps "workbench" would have been a more accurate term? Several of the vials covering the wood wobbled dangerously. "It simply does not make _sense!_"

"Holmes!" I hissed, glancing over to the white haired man in the corner and smiling in what I hoped was a somewhat reassuring manner. The man raised an eyebrow inexplicably _(1)_, before returning to the grinding of whatever herb he had inside his pot. "Of course it doesn't make sense! How the devil could it? We have been transported in time!"

"But Watson," he persisted, "that is precisely it! Look at this!"

I stared for a moment. Clearly I was missing something. "A potato?"

"Indeed Watson - a _potato!_ It doesn't make sense..." he trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. I turned to the man in the corner, deciding there were more pressing matters at hand.

"I am so sorry - what is your name again?"

"Gaius." He placed his herb dish aside with a heavy sigh. "I believe it is I who should apologise. You see I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the work of my ward, Merlin."

"Merlin?" I felt my eyes widen. _Surely not... _"You don't mean... _the _Merlin?"

Again Gaius's eyebrow was in severe danger of disappearing beneath his hair. "Excuse me?"

"Merlin the sorcerer?!"

"Shhhh!" Gaius exclaimed, pushing a finger to his lips. "Do you want him executed?! Who told you he had magic?"

"Magi-!"

"SHHHH!"

I clamped my mouth shut. Holmes was paying very little attention to the conversation at hand, still examining the potato intently. Gaius regarded us both warily.

"I do not know if the law is different, wherever you come from," he said slowly, "but here in Camelot-"

"Camelot?!" I gasped and turned to Holmes, hoping he would share in my shock, but still he continued turning the potato over in his hands, muttering to himself. I turned back to Gaius, mouth open. "You mean to tell me that we are in _Camelot? _The kingdom of legend, of- of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table?"

The silence which followed this statement was broken only by Holmes's continued muttering. Gaius's eyebrow remained raised. Luckily, after a few seconds, the door opened with a creak, and a gangly youth with dark hair and a peculiarly bright neckerchief bounded in.

"Hi Gaius I got those herbs you wanted-" he broke off as soon as he saw us. "What's going on?"

"Ah, Merlin!" Gaius looked immensely relieved. "I believe you may have some explaining to do..."

_**LATER**_

"Um... is your friend alright?" Merlin asked, eyeing Holmes, who had not moved from his spot at the workbench all through our long conversation. His eyes had taken on a rather manic look.

"Yes, I erm... suspect it is just shock..." I muttered. Gaius, who it transpired was also a physician, had suggested as much earlier, and it would seem that time travel and magic were just too much for his logical brain to cope with. "Hopefully he will return to normal once you have er- returned us."

Merlin nodded, looking back down to the heavy book open on his lap and squinting at the runic language. "Alright well I suppose I'd better hurry. I don't want anyone showing up and asking questions about you two."

"Is that likely?" I asked, nervous. Now that I had heard all Merlin and Gaius had to say about the outlaw of magic and the threat of execution, I was not keen to be discovered here. "Does King Uther visit these chambers often?"

"No, but Arthur does," Merlin said, with a rueful smile. "And given that I've just spent two days in "the tavern"... well he might be eager for me to get on with some of my chores."

"The tavern..?" _(2)_ I couldn't remember anything in Arthurian legend saying that Merlin was a drunk. But then, I hadn't quite expected him to be King - or rather, Prince - Arthur's manservant either.

"Never mind." Merlin looked up, suddenly nervous himself. "Tell me, will Arthur ever-? No." He shook his head and turned back to the book. "Gaius was right. It's better not to know."

I said nothing. We had reached the decision very early on that I was not to reveal anything of the future further than that which I had already said to Gaius. As Merlin himself understood, better than anyone I had ever met, a destiny written in stone is a difficult thing to bear.

He closed the book with a resounding snap.

"I'm ready."

_**MUCH LATER**_

"Watson... I have just had the most peculiar dream."

"Indeed?" I kept my voice calm, and turned a page of the newspaper. "What was it about?"

"It was the strangest thing..." he said, dropping onto the sofa and looking thoughtful. "We had been sent back in time to the time of Camelot and knights and King Arthur and so on... there was rather a lot of magic involved too."

I forced an amused snort. "That does indeed sound like a most peculiar dream."

"Yes. Yes it rather was." He smiled to himself. "And there was, of all things, a _potato_ there... perfectly ridiculous."

"A potato?" I enquired. "You find that the most peculiar part of your dream? Not Prin- er... King Arthur or magic but... a potato?" _(3)_

"Yes! A potato!" he reiterated. "Potatoes were introduced to England in the 16th century. And yet Geoffrey of Monmouth wrote the first record of King Arthur in the 12th century... It simply makes _no sense..._"

"No..." I coughed and focussed back on the paper. "I suppose it was only a dream..."

**_(1) bit .ly/ 11135gq_****_(2) bit. ly/ 13XxJfS_****_(3) In joke about historical innacuracy in Merlin. The writers always said that it isn't set in a particular time period, and that anyone worrying about potatoes should probably be more worried about the giant talking dragon... I couldn't find a meme to express this idea suitably, for which I apologise._**


	9. Dec 9th - Tact Part ii

_From I'm Nova - Sweet tooth_

_**A/N Continuation of Dec 4th's response...**_

**Tact**

**Part ii**

"Goodness Watson! Mm! These biscuits are delicious! I certainly do appreciate the fact that Mrs Hudson hasn't slapped me in the face today - I hope this trend continues!"

Holmes's tact was improving, albeit slowly.


	10. Dec 10th - The Time for Threats

_From cjnwriter - __Lestrade gets hit on the head and thinks that he is Sherlock Holmes._

**The Time for Threats**

"Blah blah blah, I'm Sherlock Holmes, I make other people feel inferior! Ha! Look at me, making you feel inferior! FEAR MY POWER!"

"So help me Lestrade, I will bash you on the head _again _unless you-"

"Holmes! He is clearly suffering some kind of delusion as result of his concussion. Now is not the time for threats."

"But Watson-!"

"No arguments."

"But-!"

"Shh!"

"SHERLOCK HOLMES WILL NOT BE SILENCED! SHERLOCK HOLMES IS TOO ARROGANT TO BE SHHED!"

"Holmes just be quiet!"

"That wasn't me!"


	11. Dec 11th - Ignorant Bliss

_From cjnwriter - __A nightmare including a turtle and Wiggins._

_**A/N Kind of continuation of Dec 8th's...**_

**Ignorant Bliss**

"Watson... I have just had the most peculiar dream."

"Another one?"

"Yes... " Holmes sat at the window seat gazing out to the world beyond. "We lived under the sea and Wiggins had to fight a giant sea turtle... It was all most peculiar..."

"Indeed..." I cleared my throat and gestured to the toast and tea Mrs Hudson had laid out.. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Yes... yes of course."

He went to the table, and whilst his back was turned, I gestured furiously to Wiggins, who tiptoed from behind the sofa and out of the living room door. His arm was bandaged, after a nasty turtle bite, but he still waved cheerily to me as he left.

Holmes sat down, munching on a piece of toast, and I joined him, with an inward sigh of relief.

Some things the detective was better not knowing.


	12. Dec 12th - Confessions

_From Lemon Zinger - December 12: Watson must confess a betrayal (bungling a case, lying, etc.), but it was done for good reasons. Holmes doesn't quite see it that way…_

_**A/N Another continuation of 8th and 11th...**_

**Confessions**

"Holmes... There is something I need to tell you."

Holmes looked up from his chemistry set. "Yes? What is it?"

"That dream you had. When we were both in Camelot? It- it wasn't a dream."

Holmes burst into a laugh. "I am afraid that is quite impossible Watson. After all - _the potato._"

"Just forget the potato for a moment," I snapped. Then sighed heavily. "I had begun to think it was a dream too, but you see... we have a visitor." I turned to the door. "Merlin, you may come in now."

An old man shuffled into the living room, his white beard almost to the floor. His wrinkled face shifted into a grin. Holmes sniffed in disdain.

"Clearly a homeless man with nothing better to do."

"Merlin, if you would-?"

Merlin nodded, his eyes briefly shone gold and we watched as he was transformed from an ancient man into the dark haired youth we had met all those years ago. Holmes's mouth dropped open.

"But- but- the potato! I don't..." He turned to me, more shocked than I had ever seen him. "How...? The _potato..._" He shook his head in disbelief and collapsed.

I sighed regretfully. I hadn't even mentioned the giant turtle yet...


	13. Dec 13th - Potato, Potato

_From Ennui Enigma - __Wherein Sherlock Holmes is genuinely frightened_

**_A/N Last continuation (I think) of 8, 11 and 12._**

**Potato, Potato**

After Merlin had successfully revived Holmes using magic (it was incredibly useful having a wizard about the place), we all sat down at the table and a had a calm discussion.

I wish.

"It's not possible Watson!" Holmes shrieked. "If we live in a world where potatoes are where they should never be, and magic is real, then are potatoes even real? " He grabbed me by my lapels, shoving his manic eyes up close to mine and shaking me forcefully. "Are _we _even real? Well? WELL?"

"Um... Holmes might I suggest that you calm down a little-"

"Calm!" He began to giggle and his grip on my jacket loosened. "I am calm! I'm perfectly, perfectly calm, as calm as can be and do you know why? Because we're _NOT REAL!_"

He leapt away from me muttering something I couldn't quite hear, although the word "potato" was quite prominent. Then the teapot from the table gave him a round smack around the back of the head and he dropped again to the floor. I turned to Merlin, who grinned sheepishly.

"It's been ages since I've had to do that."


	14. Dec 14th - Beast

_From Poseidon God of the Seas - __Taming the hound of the Baskervilles._

_**A/N What if...**_

**Beast**

"Watson, remove this blasted _puppy _at once!"

I laid aside my medical journal with a sigh. It appeared my dog was once again causing Holmes some aggravation.

"Beast," Holmes muttered under his breath, glaring at the animal, who continued to chew at his slippers, unknowing. "Ought to get it put down..."

"Honestly Holmes. Just move your slippers and the problem is solved."

"They're on my feet!"

"Oh stop making excuses."

* * *

"Doctor Watson I am terribly sorry but I can't be dealing with that puppy's whining. It bothers all the neighbours!"

"He's simply lonely," I pleaded with our landlady. "He misses me when I'm off on a case with Mr Holmes. Perhaps if-"

"He's not coming with us," Holmes shot darkly from his armchair. "I get enough of that beast at home."

I looked down at the pup sadly. He was, currently, quite content to be still and quiet at my feet. But Mrs Hudson was right. It wasn't fair on the dog to leave him alone at all hours of the day.

"Very well. I will search for suitable owner."

My puppy whined when his new owner took him away. Besides me, Holmes performed a quite admirable job of concealing his delight at the dog's departure.

"You musn't feel badly Watson. It was only fair on the beas- er... on the... poor thing."

I forced a smile, convincing myself I had done the right thing.

* * *

I sprang to my feet, my inert hand grasping my pistol, my mind paralyzed by the dreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from the shadows of the fog. A hound it was, an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen. Fire burst from its open mouth, its eyes glowed with a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in flickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish be conceived than that dark form and savage face which broke upon us out of the wall of fog. _(1) _

The hound turned to me and I felt my blood run cold. Beside me I heard Holmes yell out my name, and I raised my gun - but it was too late.

The beast was upon me.

Seconds passed, in the course of which I realised that I was not being horribly mauled.

"... Watson?" Holmes spoke from somewhere above me. "Are you alright?"

"I- I think so," was my bewildered reply. The dog was still crouched on top of me, front paws pinning down my shoulders. It's fur glowed in the moonlight, but now, it seemed, so did the front of my coat. "Holmes... I rather believe this hound isn't quite so demonic as we had first surmised..."

"No," he mused. "It would seem to be some kind of phosphorous compound, causing it to glow like that..."

"Mr Holmes?" Sir Henry's voice rang out. "What the devil is going on? Is- is Doctor Watson alright?"

"I'm fine!" I called out from beneath the dog, who continued to pant happily over my face. I wrinkled my nose at the stale dog breath. "Where's Lestrade?"

"I'm here," came the Inspector's voice, which sounded a great deal more distant than either Holmes's or Sir Henry's had. "I er- I think I may go and see about Stapleton now Mr Holmes." His squelching footsteps faded away.

"Is Lestrade afraid of dogs, do you suppose?" I asked absently. The oddness of the situation was now beginning to impress itself upon me and mud was beginning to seep through the back of my coat.

"I don't understand!" Sir Henry sounded utterly nonplussed. "Why is it acting so friendly to you Watson? It was about ready to tear my throat out!"

"Perhaps it is not _only_ Watson?" Holmes suggested, before I had the chance to consider Henry's question. "Perhaps, should I approach it in the right way-"

The hound snapped at Holmes's shoes, which had just appeared in the corner of my eye, and he stumbled backward with a curse.

"Vicious beast," he muttered. "Can't see why- Oh. _Oh._"

"Holmes? What is it?"

"Watson, do you recall that puppy you owned, when you first moved into Baker Street? You were forced to give it away?"

"_You _forced me to give it away but yes I do- _oh._"

* * *

"Strange really," I mused, patting my now fully grown dog's head. "That it would remember me after so long."

Lestrade looked down at it and gulped. "Yes, well, I certainly hope you won't be bringing _that_ to any of my crime scenes Doctor Watson," he said, before making a swift departure.

Holmes sniffed disdainfully. "I should certainly hope not."

"Come along Holmes. Surely after so long you two might be able to finally get along?"

As if in agreement with what I said, the dog began to lick hopefully at the detective's hand.

"Beast," Holmes muttered, but his lips were quirked up in a smile as he scratched the dog beneath its chin.

_(1) Direct quote from The Hound of the Baskervilles._


	15. Dec 15th - Again

_From Sparky Dorian - 221B is infested with fairies._

**_A/N I'm so sorry. I couldn't think of a response and the only thing I managed to come up with a friend was fat-Mycroft-eats-lots humour._**  
**_But hey - isn't that the best kind?_**

**Again**

"Om nom nom nom om nom nom nom FAIRIES TASTE SO GOOD!"

"Oh dear Lord... Fairies, Mycroft?"

"Yes! The room is full of them! They taste so good!"

"Uh oh. Looks like Mycroft ate your supply of cocaine Holmes!"

"Mycroft! Not again!"


	16. Dec 16th - How Holmes Kicked the Habit

_From Lemon Zinger - Use this line: "What started out as a silly argument became a stupid contest that I was too proud to quit…"_

_Just wanted to give a quick shout out to all of my wonderful reviewers - you all mean the world to me. _

**How Holmes Kicked the Habit**

"You are reliant on it Holmes."

I snorted. "Hardly. It is a useful stimulant - nothing more."

Watson's expression remained disbelieving. "If that were true then you would stop."

"As I have already said, it is stimulating," I drawled. "It is one of the few things which relieves boredom between cases. So yes, Watson, I could stop, however I do not stop because I choose not to."

Watson shook his head in frustration and walked over to his writing desk. I smiled to myself, convinced I had won, and continued preparing the injection of my 7 percent solution.

My preparations were interrupted, however, when a wad of bank notes fell into my lap. I stared down at them for a moment, then looked up to where Watson stood, arms crossed.

"Prove it," he said. "I bet you. I bet that you cannot last without your cocaine for an entire year."

I looked down at the bank notes. I looked back up to Watson. "Are you sure you will be quite willing to embark upon this bet with me, Watson?" I asked, my tone patronising. "This is rather a substantial amount of money."

"Enough to pay your end of the rent for a year," he replied, eyes glinting. "Yes. I am sure."

"Very well then." We shook hands. "I look forward to proving you wrong."

What started out as a silly argument became a stupid contest that I was too proud to quit. At the end of said contest, I came to realise that it was I who had been proven wrong.


	17. Dec 17th - My Monkey

_From Alice Wright - "Will you stop going through my things, Watson?"_

**_A/N Title is from the song by Jonathan Coulton. Reviews greatly appreciated. _**

**My Monkey**

The day after I had returned with Mary from our honeymoon, I decided to make a trip to Baker Street.

I knocked at the door, feeling that it might be presumptuous of me to use the old key Mrs Hudson had insisted I should keep, and was immediately greeted by the woman herself.

"Doctor Watson!" she cried upon seeing me. "Come in, come in please. How is your wife?"

"Mary is very well thank you," I replied with a smile, which wavered somewhat as from upstairs there came a very loud _thump. _"How is Holmes?"

"He's... well." Mrs Hudson cleared her throat. "You see he's acquired a pet."

"A pet?" I repeated, a little bemused but not all together surprised. "Some sort of hound I suppose?"

"No actually it's um... a monkey."

-/-/-/-

I opened the living room door with a touch of apprehension.

"Holmes..?"

The living room was in utter disarray. Soot from the fireplace had been strewn over the carpet, amongst scattered papers and numerous shards of glass, no doubt from the shattered chemistry set I could see sparkling in the corner on the floor.

From behind the sofa, which had been turned on its side, Holmes's head emerged.

"Watson!" He stood to greet me, then his eyes widened. "Look out!"

Something furry and brown erupted in the corner of my vision and instantly I ducked my head to avoid it. The monkey sailed over my head and landed with a heavy thud a short distance away from me. It raised its head and I raised mine. For a moment we stared at each other.

"Easy Watson," said Holmes in a soothing tone. Surprised, I turned to him.

"Holmes I'm not-"

"Not you!" he snapped, and the monkey emitted a loud screech. "Oh blast!" It leapt away and Holmes was after it in a flash. "Watson! Watson!"

"Holmes..." Realisation was beginning to dawn. I followed Holmes into the hallway. "You haven't-"

"Watson!" The screeching of both Holmes and his monkey interrupted me. "Watson! Stop looking through my things!"

Dear God.

He had named his monkey after me.


	18. Dec 18th - Teaser

_From I'm Nova - Lost in Translation_

_**A/N So I read this prompt and was suddenly hit with the fact that this is the perfect title for another story I am kind of half writing at the moment. So rather than come up with an actual response, I am going to annoyingly post a teaser thingy for this upcoming fic instead. Sorry guys.**_

**Teaser**

"Mrs Hudson, have you seen my cufflinks?"

She looked up from the brooch she had been attaching to her dress. "Cufflinks? You must have around a dozen pairs Mr Holmes. Not all of them are lost, surely?"

"No," I replied. "I wanted to wear a particular pair today. They were a gift..." I had just caught sight of the cane, leaning just inside the doorway. He must have forgotten it, when we left... "They were engraved?"

Mrs Hudson noticed the direction of my gaze and shook her head sadly. "No Mr Holmes, I haven't seen any."

"No, well... I shall fetch another set then, before we go." She nodded, her eyes back on the brooch.

I dashed upstairs and when I had returned with the cufflinks - not my pair of preference - she was still struggling to pin it on with trembling hands.

"Here," I said, "let me."

"Thank you."

It was odd, seeing her in black. It reminded me of when Watson and I had first taken up lodgings here, in Baker Street, and she had been in mourning for her husband.

Perhaps she too was thinking of her husband, for although I had finished pinning the brooch, the silence continued. Or perhaps she was thinking of my own "death". Either way I could stand it no longer - I cleared my throat.

"Shall we?"

She gave a sudden jerk, jolted from her thoughts. "Yes... yes, of course."

I opened the door for her, then followed her out. Just as I was closing it I saw again the cane leaning beside the coat stand and my mind was cast back to a similar occasion...


	19. Dec 19th - Home

_From embracetheweird - Favourite music_

**A/N A drabble, if you include the title.**

**Home**

The smooth wood beneath his chin, the smell of the finish. He drew in a deep breath, revelling in the familiarity of it all. He held the bow aloft for a moment. A thin smile tugged at his lips as he lowered it, brought it scraping lovingly across the strings.

He fell back into the music effortlessly. The last three years might have been a dream.

Mrs Hudson must have shown Watson in, for when next Holmes looked up, there his friend stood, a smile on his face and his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Welcome home, dear fellow."


	20. Dec 20th - Beyond

_From Werepanther33 - Angel_

* * *

**Beyond**

Stupid. Stupid, foolish, _idiotic... _but self recrimination is pointless now.

_He's going to die, _my mind is telling me. _There is nothing you can do to prevent it. It is inevitable. A forgone conclusion._

"No," I whisper and the torso beneath my hands jerks, blood oozing past my bunched up coat jacket, so that I can feel his blood between my fingers, no matter how much pressure I apply. _Please no..._

A cough. A moan.

"H-Holmes._.._"

He's dying. What do I say? What can I say?

"I'm... I'm here Watson." I hope he did not catch that telling stumble in my words. I steel myself - now is not the time to fall apart. I inject a note of confidence into my voice."Scotland Yard are on the way."

"And... Brohan?"

"Dead," I answer harshly. I do not glance to the body in the corner. Another foregone conclusion_._ I let my voice soften a little. "Watson-" I hesitate. What do I tell him? "Watson I-"

But he is already gone, slipped back into unconsciousness. Part of me has acknowledged that, in all likelihood, it will take the Yard hours to locate us and by then it will already be too late. The other part of me is simply numb, unable to bear this truth. I continue to push down on the wound, attempt to stem the blood flow.

He is still breathing. It is laboured, a struggle, but still he persists and I am so focussed on each difficult breath, each shaky rise and fall of the ribcage, that at first I do not notice the sounds from outside the room.

Footsteps. Voices. Distant, but most definitely there.

"The Yard..." I breathe, and look down, through the darkness, to Watson's pale face. He doesn't have long left. I must try. Even if it means the risk of leaving him to die alone.

I must try.

Reluctantly I remove my hands from the wound, and extend my legs so that I am

standing, ignoring the residual stiffness from having knelt on this cold floor for so long.

"Watson the Yard I- I will not be long I-" _What? _I think. He may not even hear me. "I will not be long." I mutter again, and am already halfway out of the door, sprinting in the hope that it _might _be enough, when his voice, dry and hoarse with lack of air, rings out.

"_Mary..._"

But I have no time to reflect - already I am gone, bellowing for the Yard, for anyone, to come and help...

* * *

I am there when he wakes Doctor had said it would be hours, _days_ before he awoke. That it was a miracle he had survived at all. But then Watson is, and always has been, a stubborn man. A fact for which I remain immensely grateful.

"Holmes?" he mumbles his eyes still half-closed.

"I am here, Watson," I say, going and taking one of his hands in my own, to reassure him. And perhaps to reassure myself too. "I suggest you go back to sleep my dear fellow."

"But Brohan... what-"

"I will explain it later, Watson," I say, simply grateful that there will _be _a "later". "Sleep now."

He falls silent and I assume he has followed my instruction and fallen back under the influence of the strong sedatives he has been given. I release his hand, turning to go to my own bedroom, when his voice breaks through the darkness again. "Holmes?"

"Yes, Watson?"

"Where is Mary?" The simple question is enough to stun me for a few moments.

"She- she passed away," I answer slowly, wondering whether he has perhaps sustained memory loss from the trauma of the gunshot. His response, however, dispels that thought.

"Hm. I thought so."

With that he falls back to sleep, and I am left with the sudden idea that it was not only luck coupled with Watson's stubborn streak which contributed to his unlikely survival.

Later, as I lay a bouquet of flowers beneath Mrs Watson's gravestone, my idea has hardened into a quite firm belief.

"Thank you," I murmur softly to the grave. I expect no response, but am grateful all the same.

* * *

**A/N Gosh. Wow, so um, no idea where this sprang from. I suppose the first thing that sprang to mind from this prompt was "guardian angel" and yeah - kinda skyrocketed from there. Hope it all makes sense.**


	21. Dec 21st - Breakdown

_From MadameGiry25 - "Mind your own business! Christmas is coming!"_

* * *

**Breakdown**

"Tell us a story Mr 'Olmes!"

"No I rather think that is more Watson's-"

"No, no. You go on Holmes. You're always so quick to criticise my own work - why not show me how it's done, eh boys?"

"YAY A STORY!"

"W-well that's not quite what I- well um alright. What er... what story would you like? A case?"

"Nah, make it a Christmas story!"

"Wiv Father Christmas!"

"Now I don't think that's quite realistic-"

"And fairies!"

"Fairies? I'm not quite sure-"

"And it's gotta have yew and the doctor in it too."

"Er- um. Right. Well..."

""Once upon a time" tends to be a good place to start, Holmes."

"Ah yes. Erm, thank you Watson. Well er... once upon a time Dr John Watson and Mr Sherlock Holmes-"

"Don't refer to yourself in third-person Holmes. A first person narrative is much better, tell it to us as though you were actually there."

"Alright then. Dr Watson and I-"

"That's better."

"-were in the living room of 221B Baker Street. In the corner stood a Christmas tree and from the tree-" "Wuz it a big tree?"

"Er I suppose. It's hardly a relevant detail-"

"All details are relevant Holmes. In detection and story-telling."

"Alright then it was a reasonably large tree! Anyway, from the tree in the corner came a voice. It said-"

"A voice? What sort?"

"The- the speaking sort? I don't know..."

"Well was it a man's voice?"

"Wuz it Father Christmas?!"

"No, no a woman's voice-"

"Wuz it a fairy?!"

"Yes but if you just wait I'm getting to that part-"

"What did it do?"

"It um. It flew from the tree and erm... landed on Watson's shoulder."

"Why'd it do that?"

"Wuz it a magic fairy?!"

"Wuz it on a job fer Father Christmas?!"

"What'd it say Mr 'Olmes?"

"I like fairies, I 'ope there's more in this story-"

"EVERYBODY BE QUIET! Yes it was a fairy. It flew onto Watson's shoulder because yes it was working for Father Christmas, and yes of course it was magic - have you ever seen a fairy? No? Well then, the only logical explanation for their existence, then, is that they are in fact MAGIC. Father Christmas had told this fairy to come and tell Watson that- that... that he should mind his own business! Because Christmas was coming and quite frankly he was being intolerably rude to Holmes, who was doing his very best to tell some blasted story to a whole bunch of rude children who saw fit to interrupt his actually rather marvellous story which he had to make up under a great deal of pressure and then that was the END, ALRIGHT?"


	22. Dec 22nd - Snowed In

_From mrspencil - snowed in_

* * *

**Snowed In**

"Any luck getting the door open Lestrade?"

"I'm afraid not Mr Holmes. Looks like we're stuck here for a few hours."

"A few hours?! What on earth are we to do for all that time!?"

"Er... well I s'pose we could um... sing a song?"

"Another stunning piece of input from Scotland Yard's finest..."

"Well now Mr Holmes it was only a suggestion!"

"A rather ridiculous one. I assure you, no matter the level of boredom to which I sink, I am not willing to indulge in a _song._"

* * *

"88 bottles of beer on the wall, 88 bottles of beeeeer! You knock one down, you pass it round..! Mr Homes?"

"... 87 bottles of beer on the wall."

"87 bottles of beer on the wall, 87 bottles of beeer-"

"Lestrade, Lestrade let's just stop this now. Please?"

"But we've only done 13 bottles of beer!"

"Yes I know but um... all this talk of bottles and um, liquid it's er... well I'd just rather not think about that. Right now."

"How do you mean?"

"I _mean _that we've been here for over an hour now and I am beginning to... er... _feel nature'scall_?"

"Ohhhh I see! Well I shall stop talking about beer then Mr Holmes."

"Thank you."

"And I suppose any type of liquid or water of any kind?"

"It would be much appreciated."

"Mm. And I suppose rivers and rain and all of that sort of thing?"

"Yes just- just don't mention it-"

"Oh gosh and even those words like flowing or dribble or-"

"Lestrade?"

"Yes Mr Holmes?"

"Cease your chatter immediately, or I will be sure that if and when the time comes that I cannot resist nature's call any longer, you will be the one who suffers for it. Do you understand?"

"Oh. Er, yes Mr Holmes, of course. I was just trying to keep the conversation flowing you know- oh, sorry, not flowing, erm- er- well anyway, I'll be quiet now."

"Wonderful."

* * *

"What do you suppose Doctor Watson would be doing, if he were here?"

"I imagine he would be doing very little, as he knows that I find silence to be one of the most valuable virtues in a friend."

"Hm. Yes I do believe you're right... What if he had his gun with him?"

"Why should that make any difference?"

"Well if I had _my_ gun I might play some sort of gun game. But I don't. So I can't."

"... gun game? I know I will regret asking this, but what _exactly _is a "gun game"?"

"Oh just any game. Well not any game. Any game with a gun in it. But not Russian roulette, I'm not an idiot!"

"Right..."

* * *

"Do you still need the toilet?"

"Yes."

* * *

"What do you suppose Gregson would be doing, if he were here?"

"Oh dear God."

"No he's not very religious, I don't think he'd start to pray at a moment like this..."

"That's not- never mind."

* * *

"Still need the toilet?"

"Yes."

* * *

"I remember when I was younger my father used to tell me these stories about people getting snowed in to places and eating each other and things... Do you think you could ever eat another human being Mr Holmes?"

"I don't feel it's a relevant question."

"Yes... but would you though?"

"_No _Lestrade. I don't think so."

"... I think I probably could."

"What?!"

* * *

"Sooo... still need the toilet?"

"Lestrade an hour after we became entrapped in here I expressed the need to relieve myself. It has been roughly two hours since then, and I have _not _relieved myself."

"Right, right... So, um, do you-?"

"YES I STILL NEED THE TOILET."

* * *

"Getting quite dark now."

"You don't say."

"Shame we don't have a candle."

"I would say it is a greater shame that we were snowed in here in the first place."

"Oh I don't know. It would be quite fun if we had a candle or a light of some sort."

"I am... forced to disagree with you."

"Oh yes - I'd forgotten about your er- struggle with _nature, _eh Mr Holmes?"

"Lestrade the need for subtlety has passed. We are both very much aware _exactly _the issue I am struggling with. Now please stop winking whenever we discuss my bladder issue. Or better yet, let's not discuss it at all."

"Alright. I understand."

* * *

"I don't think anyone's coming tonight Mr Holmes. I suggest we both get some sleep."

"... good idea."

"Mr Holmes I um. I know that you might not _want _to sleep, given the likelihood that if you do then you won't be able to um... _hold it in, _as it were-"

"Lestrade please you don't have to-"

"No listen! I just want to say that it's _your choice. _And... whatever you choose, I promise you that what happens in this remote and abandoned wooden hut, _stays _in this wooden hut."

"That's um... that's very kind of you..."

"I mean it. Whether you choose to stay with your legs crossed like that all night, or whether you want to come over here so we can share our body warmth-"

"_What?!_"

"-it's fine by me. Although actually, I'd rather you weren't _too _close, because quite frankly that could be rather embarrassing for both of us if we were found in that position."

"What "position"?!"

"Also if you need to relieve yourself I'd rather you did it in a corner than near me."

"I don't plan on-"

"Of course saying that, I do plan on sleeping _in_ a corner, so if you do agree that a lavatory corner is the best go then please choose your corner now so that I don't designate a sleeping corner which you later designate as lavatory corner."

"Lestrade-"

"I think we'd both suffer for that."

"LESTRADE. I don't plan on sleeping tonight."

"Oh! Oh alright then. Well good night Mr Holmes! I'll just er, go to the sleeping corner then."

"You do that."

* * *

"Holmes! Lestrade!"

"Watson! You found us!"

"Hello Doctor! Do you like my sleeping corner?"

"Er, yes... it's lovely Lestrade. Holmes why are you sitting so rigidly like that?"

"Watson... this is important... is there any form of large bush outside?"

"Actually yes there- Holmes? Where are you going?"

"I rather think that er- _nature calls, _Dr Watson."

"Oh I see. Er Lestrade?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Why are you winking like that?"

* * *

**A/N Well there you are. Some more dialogue, as I cannot find the passion within me to turn this into a proper story... or to explain exactly what circumstances led to them being snowed in. Ah well.**


End file.
